


A Demon with the Midas Touch

by LillysoftheValley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Mariah Mundi Series - G.P. Taylor, The Adventurer: The Curse of the Midas Box (2014)
Genre: Affairs, Archaeology, Blood and Injury, British Expedition to Abyssinia (1868), Crossover, Demon Deals, Demon Summoning, Demons, Egypt, Explosives, F/M, Four Feathers (2002) - Freeform, In MY crossover? It's more likely than you think!, M/M, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Mythology - Freeform, Pistols, Probably over-rating on the violence but better safe than sorry, Romance, Sexual Content, Stage Magic, Steampunk elements, Swordfighting, The Bureau of Antiquities (Mariah Mundi Series), The Midas Box (The Adventurer: Curse of the Midas Box), Torture, disguises
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21787531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillysoftheValley/pseuds/LillysoftheValley
Summary: Bound by technicality; devoted by choice.The demon Crowley is accidentally summoned by Will Charity after an expedition for the Bureau of Antiquities uncovers a strange artifact. Will, who never intended to make a deal with a demon, figures he may as well make the best of the situation while he tries to come up with a way to nullify the contract. Crowley, who never expected to be back in a human form so soon (the 14th century being 'recent' by demon standards), is eager to get the deal completed so he can go back to enjoying his nap. But Will isn't the worst person to be stuck with, and Crowley quickly gets the hang of this Adventurer thing, so if it takes a little while to iron out the details... Neither of them are complaining.
Relationships: Charles Mundi/Catherine Mundi, Will Charity/Catherine Mundi (Past), Will Charity/Charles Mundi (Past), Will Charity/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 25
Collections: My favorite AU fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As of Nov. 1, 2020 existing chapters may undergo minor editing for detail and continuity in preparation for futher updates.
> 
> A continuation of my crossover ficlet from [Inktober](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837621/chapters/49627415) where the firey-haired demon from Good Omens meets a familiar-looking Adventurer and helps him track down the fabled Midas Box. 
> 
> Based upon both the original Mariah Mundi novels by G.P. Taylor and the film The Adventurer: The Curse of the Midas Box, and Good Omens (TV series adapted from the book by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman). NOT a Good Omens pastiche.

_"Charity! Heaven bless it, where are you!" Crowley coughed, trying to see through the haze of smoke in the cavern. His ears rang from the shock of the dynamite blast, making him dizzy. He stumbled forward, caught himself on slimy rock wall. "Perfect," he muttered. "Another jacket ruined."_

_"Crowley!" Will's voice echoed from somewhere close by. Following the sound, Crowley picked his way as quickly as he dared through tumbled rock to where Will huddled. When Will spotted Crowley, he fell heavily into his arms. "Luger --" he coughed, sucked in a pained breath, clutching his side. "Luger's got the map."_

_"Forget the map, we have to get out of here before the whole cave comes in!" Crowley hitched an arm under Will's weight, helping him to his feet. It was then that he noticed the blood. "What happened?" Crowley demanded, not bothering to disguise the panic that edged into his voice._

_Will shook his head, pressing a hand hard to a spot just under his ribs. "It's nothing. Just a scratch." He gave Crowley a grim look as they hobbled out of the cavern. "He did it on purpose, Crowley. He killed his own men."_

_Crowley's jaw hardened. "That bastard," he hissed. "We'll get him, Will. You can count on that."_

_"I hope to God you're right."_

_A sardonic smile twisted Crowley's mouth. "One of these days we'll get your benediction going the right direction." Once they were clear of the site of the explosion, he summoned enough strength to get them both back to London.  
_

* * *

1875 - Egypt

The only sound in the flickering lamp light was the shifting hiss of sand underfoot. Will's heart beat in his throat as he inched down the ancient ramp further into the tomb. All around him the hand-carved stone pressed close. He kept his eyes on the back of the man ahead of him. Will envied Charles at times like this. Charles never seemed afraid. He was always ready to lead the way, jumping in with nothing but that grin of his. That grin always meant trouble, but Will was never able to resist it. And that was why he was nearly suffocating down a ventilation shaft under a mile of desert sand they may or may not be able to get out of again.

Charles stopped his shuffling descent and Will's knees bumped into his back.

"Steady, old boy," Charles whispered. "Bit of a drop here." He edged over as much as he could. Will crouched beside him where the shaft widened. There was barely a hand's breadth of stone before the space opened out into darkness, the edges untouched by the light of the lamp Charles held out high overhead. Their climbing rope, however, was at its end.

"How are we going to get down?"

Charles flashed Will that grin. "In one piece, I hope."

Will rolled his eyes. "I'll push you and you can find out."

Charles shrugged off his pack and dug out a phosphorous flare. Will lit it carefully off the lamp and sent it spinning out into the darkness. It landed on a mound of sand and rolled to the bottom of a sunken chamber which appeared no larger or deeper than the treading pool at the Turkish baths.

"Look, there are some steps here." Charles pointed over the edge of the chamber where a series of roughly hewn chips in the rock were cast into relief by the sickly greenish light.

"Hardly steps. It seems like the chamber was never finished. Wonder why."

"Well, we'll never find out if we just sit here talking." With another grin, Charles swung his legs over the edge and started down. He landed on the mound of sand with a muffled thump, sliding down to the chamber floor. His shadow wobbled and slid over the walls as he inspected the carvings. "Looks like it was a burial chamber, all right," he called up to Will. "The inscriptions are only half finished but it seems as though it was meant for a priestess of some kind. She was definitely important so I wonder why they filled in the chamber before it was finished."

"To keep raiders out, maybe. Or perhaps they wanted to keep the builders in. Anyway, you're supposed to be looking for the altar."

Charles cast an unhappy look at the pile of sand. "One guess where it is, old chap."

"Better get digging, then, that flare will be out soon." Will rummaged in the pack. "Here! Use this." He tossed down one of their camp plates. Charles shoveled his way through the pile for several minutes as the flare grew dimmer and dimmer.

"It's here! I can almost reach it!"

Will craned his neck over the edge of the chamber in time to see his friend disappear under a fall of sand. "Charles!" He shouted in a panic. There was no response from below. He dropped the lamp as he scrambled onto his stomach, leaning out as far as he could. "Charles!"

The flare started to sputter, the lamp flickered and went out. Will tried to swallow his panic. Then, there was a ripple in the little dune, a hint of a muffled grunt, and Will managed to catch sight of Charles' arm, fist held aloft in triumph before the flare went out and plunged the chamber back into darkness.

"All things considered, a pretty good run for us eh, Will?"

Charles sat on the bottom bunk, grinning under the towel on his head. It had taken him two trips to the water closet to get all the sand off. Will nodded, averting his eyes from bare and tanned torso out of habit, but it was difficult to avoid looking at Charles in the tiny berth they were sharing on the ship back to England.

"Just bring two flares next time." Will nudged Charles affectionately on the shin with his foot. He knew he was touching too much, too often, but ever since they had climbed back out of the tomb he could not help the little physical reassurances that Charles was safe. Will had been badly afraid for several long minutes after the flare went out that Charles had been lost, buried beneath the sand like the builders so they could not give up their secrets. But Charles had managed to grasp his trembling hand in the darkness and haul himself out of the abyss. He had laughed about it on the way up to the surface, unaware of just how shaken Will had been.

Will glanced at the votive nestled safely in his trunk as he pulled out a clean shirt. It was such a little thing, a clay jar covered in odd hieroglyphs that could just fit in the palm of his hand, and hardly seemed worth all the trouble. He frowned, stuffing his dirty clothes around it and shutting it away, out of sight and out of mind.

"Still wearing that old thing, I see," Charles said, pointing to the locket Will wore.

Will pulled his shirt on quickly. "It's good luck."

"Certainly came in handy today." Charles, his tone uncharacteristically sober, ran a hand through his wet hair, the brown darkened nearly to black as if to match his sudden mood. He took a shaky breath. "I thought I might have had it for a moment back there."

"Ah, you were all right," Will said as brightly as he could manage, giving his own dark, damp curls a final ruffle and sitting beside his friend. "Besides, I couldn't leave you down there. The berth was booked under your name."

Charles snorted, then started laughing. "What would I ever do without you, Will?" He grinned and gripped Will on the shoulder. "Still, I am glad you were with me."

Will smiled back. His chest felt tight having the comfortable weight of Charles' arm around his shoulders, of having him so close, close enough to see the little flecks of green in his deep chestnut eyes. "I'll always be there, Charles, don't you worry," he said before elbowing Charles in the ribs. "Come on, let's get some sleep."

He let Charles have the bottom bunk, even though the trip was short and the waters calm. He lay awake a long time after the lamp had been blown out, listening to Charles fall asleep and feeling the ghost of his touch. With a little sigh, he pulled at the chain around his neck. Catherine had given it to him, the night before they shipped off for Abyssinia.

There had been a dance at the Wellington Barracks to send the fresh-faced officers off in style. He and Charles had filled her dance card, passing her between them all evening so no one else could get a chance. After a particularly lively polka, she had pulled him out onto the terrace. They were breathless from laughter and dancing and just a little too much champagne. It was late and the setting moon cast slanting shadows over the terrace. Catherine seemed to glow faintly in her white gown. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

"I wanted to give you something," she said. She pulled him down beside her on the terrace balustrade. "To remember me by while you're away." She pulled the necklace from her reticule and placed it in his hand.

Will opened the locket. Catherine's portrait smiled up at him, painted in lifelike miniature. A coil of shining brown hair fell over one pale shoulder, a glint of gold in her dark eyes, and that little smile he knew so well on her small rosy lips. She smiled at him like she knew all his thoughts and did not object. Catherine, the woman who had been his first friend in London, after Charles. Whose sparkling laugh and incisive wit made her the envy of every solider, but whose father was imposing enough to scare all but the most reckless of them into keeping their distance. Except Charles, and since Will was always with Charles, that meant the three of them were always together.

"Thank you," he managed, his throat tight.

Shyly, Catherine pulled off her gloves and leaned close to fasten it around his neck. Her fingers lingered on the collar of his uniform, making sure the chain lay just so. She smelled of heliotrope in summer. Will caught her hands in his before she could draw away.

"Come back safely, Will," she whispered, eyes bright with tears.

Will brushed her cheek. He had been acutely aware that he should be memorizing her face, the way wisps of hair curled behind her ear, the soft curve of her parted lips. He had wanted badly to kiss her, to press her to his chest and never let go.

"Charles will be looking for you," he said instead. Sure enough, Charles' voice filtered out to them from the ballroom. Will pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her hand. "Don't cry, Catherine," he insisted though his own blue eyes were shining. "I'll see you again soon."

She took a shaky breath and tried to smile. "Take care of Charles. You know what he's like."

"I promise."

Charles called for her again. She rose, giving him a last lingering look before going back inside. Will had tucked the locket away next to his heart and returned to the barracks alone.

He could have kissed her, he should have kissed her, but he had stepped aside for Charles. Always for Charles. He had kept his promise in Abyssinia and saved Charles from more scrapes than he cared to mention. Will got a captaincy for this trouble, and Charles got Catherine. Every night of that wretched campaign and every night since, he had pressed the locket to his lips. Will sighed and turned over, trying to let the rock of the ship lull him to sleep. When he did at last, he dreamt of drowning in sand.

* * *

London

Catherine bent over the fragile papyrus. Holding her breath, she brushed away the last of the dirt and sand with a fine sable brush. A smile teased at her lips as the last of the hieroglyphs became clear. She pushed her chair back and gave a little excited whoop, hurrying to the bookshelf to find the right dictionary. When the door of her office opened with a clatter, she did not bother to look up.

"If you so much as breathe on that papyrus, Charles Mundi, I'll have your guts for garters."

"That wouldn't be so bad. At least I'd be pressed against your thigh," Charles chuckled, embracing her from behind. Catherine swatted him away.

"You are incorrigible."

"And yet you still agreed to marry me." Charles grinned. His arms returned to her waist, pulling her close until they were nose to nose.

"I haven't said yes, yet," she reminded him.

"Haven't said no, either." Charles captured her mouth without protest.

Will cleared his throat loudly from the doorway. "Do hope I'm not interrupting," he said with a smile as they sprang apart guiltily.

Catherine blushed, hurriedly smoothing down her dress before giving Will a peck on the cheek. "Hello, Will. I hope you didn't get up to too much trouble."

Will shared a look with Charles before replying. "None at all. Perfectly boring."

"Just another old tomb. Lots of sand. Hardly worth the trouble, really," Charles put in.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Let's see it then."

She pointed to another work table and Will put down his bag. "One votive, early pre-dynastic period, carved with the relief of a serpent, as requested." He unwrapped the votive and tossed it in his hand a few times, much to Catherine's dismay. He grinned and tossed it to Charles who caught it easily and dangled it just out of Catherine's reach.

"Honestly, the two of you!" She finally grabbed the votive and set it carefully on the table. "Don't you know what this is? It's a summoning vessel. Not particularly common, but terribly powerful in the right hands." She went to the bookshelf and took down a slim black volume, flipping it open to an illustration plate. "Typically used by high ranking priests or priestesses to increase their power to act on behalf of the gods. Summon a spirit from the underworld, use its power, put fear into the hearts of the people and increase tithes to the temple."

"And the cut for the priests," Charles guessed. "What makes this one so special that the Bureau sent us all the way to Egypt for it?"

Catherine examined the hieroglyphs for a moment. She frowned. "You say you found it in a tomb?"

"An unfinished one, yes."

She pulled down several more books from the shelf. Her expression grew darker the more she read. "This can't be right. See this glyph, here? Normally, this is where the penitent - the priest, usually - would put the name of the deity they serve. But this is - well, I would say it's misspelled if I didn't know better. It's the name of a very powerful evil spirit."

Charles frowned. "I thought you said they called spirits from the underworld?"

"Underworld simply referred to the land of the dead. This is for summoning a _demon_."

"But why?" Will wondered. "The tomb wasn't even finished, why would the builders want to summon a demon?"

"And why was the Bureau so anxious to get it?" Charles was still frowning. No one had an answer.


	2. Chapter 2

  
_Will? Will! Don’t fall asleep! Stay awake, Will. Stay with me._  


* * *

"Will? Are you awake?"

"Ugh, well I am now," Will grumbled groggily. "What is it?" He blinked up into the candlelight at Charles standing over his bed.

"It's that votive. I can't get it out of my head."

Will rolled over. "That's your problem, isn't it? No reason to wake me up."

Charles took his shoulder and hauled him back the other way. "Come on, Will. You can't tell me you're not curious?"

"About some old pot? No."

"I almost died for that thing. I'm going to find out what it's really about. With or without you." He stamped from the bedroom. Will lay in the dark for about thirty seconds before groaning loudly. He kicked off the covers and stumbled about in the dark for his shirt before following after Charles. He found the man waiting outside with a smug grin on his face.

"Shut up," Will muttered. 

They walked together back to the Bureau headquarters. Charles hoisted Will up so he could shimmy open the window of Catherine's office.

"I certainly hope," Will grunted as he pulled Charles in after him, "that once you're married you will tell Catherine to be better about locking up after herself."

Charles removed the votive from the cabinet where Catherine had locked it that afternoon and set it back on the table. He stared down at it like he could charm it into revealing its secrets.

"What has got you so bothered about his this, Charles?"

"You said it yourself this afternoon. Why would builders need something like this? The tomb was unfinished. Dedicated to some kind of priestess of agriculture. There was a lot about flowers, anyway. Point is, it was unfinished. Why would there be a powerful summoning vessel in an unused tomb?"

"And why fill it in with sand," Will added.

"Exactly!" He started to pace. "They were still in there," he said quietly after a few turns. "The builders."

"You never told me that."

"Not something I really wanted to remember." Charles grimaced. He sat heavily in the desk chair. "I was digging, shoveling out that sand - thanks for that plate, by the way. But it wasn't all sand, underneath it was soil. Very fine, but still soil; silt from the riverside maybe. It had formed into a kind of shell around the altar."

"I saw you disappear. I thought you'd been trapped."

He looked up at Will. "They were buried, purposefully, left to suffocate." He took a shaky breath. "Two bodies, huddled together under the altar."

Will knelt down and gripped Charles' arm gently. "We should figure this out, then," he said.

Charles smiled. He started searching the papers on Catherine's desk. "If I know her, she's started on a translation. Maybe it will give us a clue to why the Bureau sent us out for it."

"Catherine's much too smart to translate something like that. She knows how dangerous it is. Besides, the Bureau sends us out for things like this all the time. It's The Bureau of Antiquities, that's the point!"

"Well, maybe I'm getting a little sick of putting my life on the line for the Bureau, Will. I've got other plans to be making now."

Will turned away. The engagement had not come as a surprise to anyone. Will had even won a few pounds on a bet for the date of the announcement. But what had caught him off guard, like a punch to the gut, was that Charles had not been the one to tell him.

"There's nothing here." Charles slammed a drawer shut too loudly.

Outside in the hallway, lamplight winked beyond the door accompanied by the sound of footsteps. The night guards on patrol. Will and Charles hastily tidied the desk and closed the cabinet.

"Quick!" Will hissed, pushing Charles back toward the window. They jumped back down to the ground moments before the door opened. Charles moved to make a break across the lawn, but Will yanked him back by the collar and pressed him flat against the wall, into the shadows. Sure enough, a moment later the night porter leaned out the open window. 

"They went this way! Check around the front!"

Charles shook with silent laughter. Will kicked him in the shin. Once the coast was clear they made a beeline for the back gate. 

Charles was still laughing when they got back to their rooms. He knocked Will's shoulder playfully. "Just like old times, hey old boy?"

Will shoved back, hard enough to force Charles down onto the settee. "What is wrong with you?"

"Steady on."

"We aren't children anymore, Charles. Care to explain what all this is about?" Will folded his arms. He stared down at his friend until the smile faded from Charles' lips.

"I just want some answers." He pulled the votive from his satchel. 

Will groaned in frustration. "Why did you take it? Now they'll think Catherine was burgled!"

"Technically she was."

"By us!" Will ran his hands through his hair. "Is this some kind of flirtation for you? Are you trying to prove something to her?"

Charles stretched out his legs, affecting a nonchalant pose. "Do I need to prove anything to her?" When Will did not immediately answer, he scoffed. "That's it, isn't it? You don't think she should marry me."

"Of course she should marry you!" Impatience seeped into Will's tone. "I think it's wonderful."

"No you don't. No, don't lie to me, Will," Charles insisted when he started to protest. "You hate that she's marrying me and not you."

"How could you think that of me? Charles - "

"Oh, don't start!" Charles got up, pacing to the window, setting the votive on the table. 

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Charles laughed bitterly. "Did you really think I didn't know? That I didn't see you staring at her all those years? You've got her around your neck for God's sake!"

"Alright, yes, I love her!" Will burst out. "Yes, I once thought that she might love me, too, but she chose _you_ Charles. And I would sooner cut off my own arm than come between you."

"I found the letters, Will," Charles said softly. He let out a half-amused laugh. "All the time we were away I thought you might have been writing to a secret sweetheart, but it was Catherine. You were writing to _my_ fiancee for an entire _year!_ " Charles took an unexpected swing that Will just managed to duck.

"You weren't her fiancee, yet," Will reminded him, a dangerous edge to his voice. "At least, I didn't think so. But I was wrong, wasn't I? And why may that have been, old chap?" Will spat. He grabbed the front of Charles' shirt. "You couldn't even look me in the face and tell me the truth!"

Charles wrenched himself free. "If I had told you, you would have behaved about as well as you are now!"

Something possessed Will then, whether it was the outrage in knowing, deep down, that Charles was right, or simply because he was tired, and fed up with Charles and his antics. He drew back and punched him right in the jaw. Caught off guard, Charles stumbled back into the table. He swiped at his lip, found it had split.

"Not very sporting of you, Will," he said. Charles reached out and got his hand around the votive. "What will poor Catherine say?" 

"Give that here."

"Why? So you can impress her with your detective skills?"

"Charles, you need to calm down," Will ground out, trying to stay level headed himself. "I think all this is getting to you. It is not unheard of for people to be influenced by negative energy in objects like that."

A dark and bitter smile twisted Charles' mouth. "Listen to you! You've been spending too much time at the Academy."

"No, I've been toting around the world after you, making sure you don't kill yourself!"

Will lunged forward, pressing Charles down, meaning to wrest the votive back from him. In so doing, a drop of blood from Charles' hand made its way onto the lip of the vessel. Then, right after the two of them noticed this horrible fact, they were both tossed bodily to the floor by a powerful wave of - something.

Dazed, Will raised his head. The whole room had gone dark. Across the floor several feet away, Charles was sprawled out, seemingly unconscious. The votive rolled lazily not far from his hand. Before Will could move, a flash of light appeared around Charles on the floor. It began as a thin line, spreading out in a spidery pattern until it encircled his body. Will watched in horror as the air above Charles seemed to shrink and distort, pulling in on itself like water down a drain. The room began to fill with a dense, oppressive pressure that forced the air from Will's chest. From out of the whirlpool of air, a shadow emerged, even darker than the present darkness. Will squinted; it was difficult to see. There was a crackling sound, like a raging fire, or the sharp retort of gunfire as it echoes against a cliff face, or the sting of summer lightning in the desert sky. The shadow grew, twisting and lengthening until it began to resemble something familiar, something almost human. It stood over Charles in the glowing circle. It was tall and very thin, spiky and angled as a silhouette on pavement. Will caught a glimpse of a wide mouth with far too many teeth and large, yellow eyes that gave off their own phosphorous-colored light before he had to shut his eyes against the strain of keeping them open. 

Then, in the next moment, the pressure was gone. Will sucked in a gulp of air, coughing at the acrid burnt taste of it. When he looked up again, the room was as it had been before, lamps all glowing brightly, except now it had a new occupant. A tall, skinny man in an elegantly tailored black suit held Charles up by the collar. Charles struggled, but the other man possessed surprising strength. Will scrambled to his feet.

"Will! Get out of here!" Charles cried.

"Put him down!" Will shouted, only it came out as a strangled rasp.

The tall man turned his head curiously. He wore dark tinted glasses, but Will still felt the full weight of his gaze. A little smile parted thin red lips, revealing some very sharp looking teeth. "This doesn't concern you." His voice was deep and smooth like water over river stones, with just the hint of a burr. "Why don't you sit down while I complete this deal." It wasn't a suggestion. Will felt the compulsion grip his legs, but fought to stay upright.

"Release him, demon!"

One auburn eyebrow raised over the dark glasses. "My, my, aren't we determined? Who are you to make demands of me?"

Will trembled with the effort of resisting the compulsion. "I am the one who summoned you."

The man scoffed. "Do not think you can trick me, mortal."

"This man and I made a pact." Will held out his right hand. A thin scar crossed his palm just below his thumb. "We are blood brothers. As his blood is mine, mine is his. **I** summoned you," he repeated firmly.

The demon considered him for a long moment. The sway of his head put Will in mind of a snake. "You realize what summoning me means? It means we make a deal."

"I understand," Will growled between clenched teeth. "Take whatever you like, but take it from me." 

The smile returned. "Suit yourself," he said with a shrug. He dropped Charles like he was no more than a sack of potatoes and snapped his long, gloved fingers.

Will immediately crumpled to the floor. Pain lanced through his body. It seemed to go on forever, but at the same time, in the space of a heartbeat, it was gone.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at pale canvas. He recognized this place. Looking down, he saw the familiar dun of his uniform, stiff with sweat and sand, itchy with camel hair. He sighed. Abyssinia; how could he have forgotten. He and Charles had just been drinking by the fire, trying to wash out the perpetual dust of the hard march through the mountains. He must have fallen asleep on his pallet. Wearily, he stretched out with a soft groan. He should have taken off his boots. The tent flap opened and Charles chuckled at the sight of him.

"Here, let me help." He tossed aside the empty bottle of the bitter local alcohol and knelt at the foot of Will's bedroll. Slowly, with the kind of careful attention that comes from being drunk, he unlaced Will's boots, tossing them aside carelessly. 

"Ta, old chap," Will laughed as he struggled upright. "Now, your turn." He swung his legs to either side of the pallet and patted the space between them. Charles giggled. "No, come on," Will insisted.

Charles sat with a little bounce, propping both feet up on Will's leg. They both started into a fit of giggles as Will tried to prise apart the laces, batting Charles' hands away when he tried to help. At last, he pulled the boots free with a triumphant shout. He flung them away and they tangled with his own. The force of his toss made Will wobble forward too far, and he was too drunk to stop himself bumping into Charles. Sputtering a laugh, he braced a hand on the other man's chest.

"All right, old boy?" Charles grinned.

Will nodded. He sighed and let his head fall forward, meeting Charles forehead to forehead. Charles' hand warm on the back of his neck, steady, safe. "I want to go home," he whispered.

"We will. Soon."

"Promise?" Will huffed a little breath of a chuckle. Charles smiled, his answering amusement a warm gust against Will's lips. He was close, familiar, here; Will let his hand drift from Charles' neck to his face, that familiar face. He felt as though he knew every line. He saw those warm brown eyes widen, then darken as Charles cupped his face in return. Without even thinking Will had closed the gap between them. 

Charles met him back with an unexpected fervor, as if he had only been waiting for Will. They tumbled back onto the pallet together, a tangle of legs and arms and mouths and little laughs until a compromise was reached. The world shrunk to pinpoints of sensation, heat and breath, stubble and sweat, the push and pull of hips and hands. Will bit back a groan as Charles' mouth found his neck. He rolled his hips, seeking purchase, but something felt off. He opened his eyes and was met with yellow eyes in Charles' face.

"No wonder you wanted to change the deal."

Will shoved the demon off him and scrambled to his feet. They were back in the apartment, but still apart from it. Will looked down and saw his own body on the floor, Charles huddled a few feet away. The demon was brushing down his impeccable coat as if this happened every day.

"You love him," the creature said simply.

"That is private!"

"Not to me. That's the deal, remember? You want something from me, I get something from you."

Will bristled. "So my memory is to be perused at your leisure?"

"Not just your memory, William Mariah Charity," the demon hissed, lingering over each name like it was a sweet. His yellow eyes flashed. "I get everything. I get your soul."

Will felt the words land like a punch. Was Charles worth his soul? Was Catherine? 

"You can still decide, you know." The demon came up beside him, cocking his head to contemplate Will's unconscious body. "You can still let your friend over there complete the deal. Then you could be free to scoop up that girl. The one who gave you that locket. Not quite my taste, but I'm still partial to Etruscan metallurgy." When Will hesitated, the demon grinned. "Come on... you know you want to. He's never done anything for you. You've loved him since you were a kid, you share one night of frankly disappointing passion together, and he conveniently forgets all about it? And to add insult to injury, he snaps up that sweet little thing for himself even though he knows you love her." The silky voice wove through his head, tempting and alluringly true. 

"No," Will said. "The deal is made. I will honor it." 

The yellow eyes narrowed as the demon assessed him over the rims of the glasses. Then, the demon shrugged. "All right. Really doesn't make any difference to me." He snapped his fingers again and Will was opening his eyes, back in his body on the floor, and with a splitting headache. Groaning, Will shuffled upright. Charles was in a similar state.

"What happened?" Charles rasped.

"What happened is you being a bloody fool!" Will got laboriously to his feet. "How many times do I have to tell you not to touch things." Will staggered to the sideboard and poured a generous dram of whiskey. He looked around for the demon, but there was no trace of him, only Charles dragging himself into a chair.

"You're one to talk," he grumbled. "I seem to recall you punching me rather viciously."

"Well, you deserved it." Will rubbed vigorously at his temples. He poured another glass and thrust it at Charles. "Drink this."

Charles took it with shaking fingers. "Why did you do it, Will? Why did you want him to make the deal with you?" Anger flared in his eyes. "For Catherine? Is that it?"

"I didn't do it for her, you idiot!" Will shouted, throwing his glass at the wall. "I did it for you!" Will took a deep breath. "All this time, all these years, everything has been for you. You are my dearest - my only - friend and if anything ever happened to you - ngk." Will's voice cracked. "All this time and you never said. Not one word. That night - we -" He looked to Charles desperately.

"Will - "

"But now you have Catherine," Will continued bitterly. "Perfect Charles, taking whatever you want and bugger the rest." The anger of earlier swept back, untapped now that he had started. "You tossed me aside like I was just another camp boy. Like I wasn't your friend. Like I didn't risk my neck for you every day! Like I was nothing to you!"

Will staggered back, stunned by the force of his ire. "Is that it?" he whispered in shock. "Have you ever cared for me at all?"

"Will, what happened - you and I -" Charles stammered, but Will already had his answer.

"We shall always have Abyssinia, hey Charles?" Will's laugh was hollow. He picked up the votive from the unscathed floor.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking this back to the Bureau, where it belongs. Unless you would care to explain to Catherine?" When Charles only blanched, he sneered. "As I thought. I hope you'll be very happy together, Charles," he said quietly. The door swung shut behind him with a dull finality.


	3. Chapter 3

_Rain pelted the roof of the carriage. Isambard Black checked his watch again. The carriage door opened, letting in a spray of water and mud along with Perfidious Albion._

_"You're late," he said._

_"I know. We have a situation."_

_"I am aware that Otto Luger has the map. What of the amulet?"_

_"He only has the map for now, that's the problem." Perfidious shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's Charity."_

_Isambard snapped his watch closed. "Ah," he sneered. "Charity."_

* * *

Will slammed the front door of the house shut with a satisfyingly loud crack that disturbed the quiet of the street. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, along with the votive, wincing at the bone deep ache in his muscles. He wanted nothing more than to fall into bed, but yet again it was down to him to fix Charles' mistake. He glanced up at the windows of the flat, wondering if Charles was worrying about the state of his best friend's soul. More likely, he was drinking himself to sleep and would wake in the morning with no memory of what had happened. 

He stalked off to the Bureau, turning his collar up against the night chill. The votive weighed heavily in his pocket. The guards would be on the watch now, making it all the more difficult to slip back in and return it. Perhaps he should just tell them that Charles had acted on his own, make him face some consequences for once. Charles had endangered Catherine's position at the Bureau, now. She had been the one to recommend them both after their discharge from service, as the Director was always keen to remind them when they returned from a mission with more scrapes and bruises (and warrants of arrest) than were necessary. He and Charles were on tenterhooks with the Bureau as it was, and if Catherine was implicated, it could be the end of her career as well. She was a brilliant researcher, far more valuable to the Bureau than a pair of adventurers. Charles knew that as well as anyone. He also knew that she was a crack shot. Will shuddered to think of what she would do if she found out what Charles had done just because he was too curious for his own good. Demons were one thing, Catherine's temper was quite another.

Thinking of demons, it was only a matter of time before the one they had summoned returned for him. Will suddenly wished he had thought to bring a lantern; the streetlamps were doing little against the press of the moonless night. Something skittered in the gutter and he jumped, looking around, but the street was empty. He quickened his pace, falling easily into the march drilled into him at Wellington, his senses on alert. With every dark alley he passed, he expected the shadows to twist into horrible spikes and teeth, reaching out to drag him into the fiery pit. His hand twitched for the pistol he no longer wore. It had saved his life more than once and not for the first time he regretted relinquishing it to the quartermaster. A pair of eyes flashed across the road. Will's step faltered and the noise made the animal scurry away. With his heart pounding, Will resolved to acquire a new weapon as soon as possible.

He was a street away from the Bureau when the echo started, almost unnoticed under the sound of his own boots. Another set of footsteps trailed behind him, steady and unhurried like the ticking of a clock. Will chanced another glance over his shoulder but saw no one. A shiver of unease ran down his spine. He continued on, forcing himself to maintain his pace, and concentrated on the steps that followed him. They slowed when he slowed, sped when he sped, but always maintained their distance. He was being stalked, teased: predator and prey. He stopped abruptly, and the echo stopped, too. Slowly, Will turned to look back down the way he had come. There was nothing at all to be seen, nothing to be heard but the pound of his pulse in his ears. As he scanned the street, the lamps began to flicker, growing dimmer until they hardly gave off light at all. Darkness unfurled like a blanket, the same thick darkness that had permeated his sitting room not an hour earlier. Will grasped the nearest lamp post firmly to anchor him as the darkness increased until the dim circle of pavement under his feet was the only bright spot in a sea of black.

The only spot, that is, until he noticed the eyes. Two pinpricks of phosphorescent yellow drew closer and closer to where Will stood, stopping just beyond the light. The demon coalesced out of the darkness into vague hints of shape - a crease of sleeve, the silver tip of a walking stick, a glint of reflection on the glasses that now dimmed the glowing eyes, and the hint of a lip curved in a smile.

"Evening, Charity," the demon said cheerfully, as if they were old friends bumping into one another on the street.

Will felt a strange sort of relief at the familiar pleasantry. With no spikes or teeth forthcoming, he let out the shallow breath he had been holding and it turned into a little sound of amusement. "You still have me at a disadvantage. We were never properly introduced before you decided to go rummaging around in my head." He shocked himself with how calm he sounded, considering this was the demon who wanted his soul. Perhaps it was the meager light giving him a foolish sense of safety. Perhaps he was simply too tired and angry to be frightened. There was a rustle of silk that suggested the demon was tilting his head.

"Interesting," he purred. "Yes, that is the proper thing nowadays, isn't it? Names and civilized conversation. And I do so like to be proper." There was the flash of a grin as he took a small step closer to the light and sketched a little bow. "You may call me Crowley."

"Crowley? I expected something a little more sinister."

"And I expected you to be a little less impertinent," the demon hissed. "We have business to discuss."

"Yes, I know," Will said dryly. "Is that why you've been stalking me through the streets like a common cutpurse?"

"I prefer to make my deals in private. Especially when they end up being ... complicated."

"I see. Well, go on then, take my soul or what have you, and we shall consider this settled." Will spread his arms, closed his eyes, and waited. He wondered if the ground would crack open at his feet, or if his death would simply come with the sharp sting of a knife in his gut. 

Crowley only chuckled. "It doesn't work that way."

Will opened his eyes as Crowley stepped fully into the light, so they were toe to toe within the confines of the circle. Will fought the natural urge to take a step back, sure that if he left the light, any semblance of civility would cease and he would be torn to pieces.

"There are rules to these things, you see," Crowley continued. "I cannot take your soul without first holding up my end of the bargain. A demon is summoned for the express purpose of lending a piece of its power. But you can't get something for nothing, hence the contract. Demon helps human, human pays demon. Simple tit for tat. Only once I have fulfilled your desire will I take my payment."

Will swallowed. The way Crowley lingered over the word _desire_ sent a shiver down his spine. The demon was much too near, near enough for Will to see the way his eyes burned like candle flame behind his glasses, with pupils like a desert snake. He had stared down a snake before, and felt the same thrill now, wanting to reach out in fascination despite the danger that the snake could strike at any moment. _Temptation_ his mind supplied.

"You're a demon. What's to stop you just taking my soul anyway?"

Crowley's mouth thinned in irritation. "As I said, there are rules. The summoning itself creates a bond. For the duration of the contract, the demon is bound to earth and the human who makes the contract. Insurance," he said mockingly. "There was a ratification about it a few millennia ago. Too many demons getting greedy."

"So," Will ventured quietly, "until I ask you for something, you cannot take my soul. And until you take my soul, you cannot return to hell - or wherever it is you go. Therefore, we are at an impasse, for I want nothing from you."

Crowley's eyes flashed. He grabbed the front of Will's coat roughly. "What you want is immaterial. You agreed to this when you so gallantly volunteered to take the place of your friend. I've been summoned, quite rudely, I might add. Refusing to make a contract would not be wise."

"It is possible, then. Refusing."

Will felt more than heard the demon gasp. Slowly, very slowly, he smiled. "Oh," he breathed, notched pupils flaring. "Oh, I like you. The curious ones are always more fun."

"Is it possible?" Will pressed.

"I don't know," Crowley said brightly. "I've been summoned" - he ticked off the fingers of his other hand absently - "twelve times and you are the first one who has ever thought to ask."

"In that case, would you mind letting go? I do have some other business to attend to before we try to find out. Oh, and would you mind putting the lights back on?"

For a moment, Crowley did not move, and Will was almost afraid he had overstepped. But then, Crowley snorted something close to a laugh.

"You, Will Charity, are without doubt the most irritating penitent that has ever summoned me." 

"Technically, Charles summoned you. And I am simply trying to understand what I'm getting myself into. I am not in the habit of signing my soul away without reading the fine print first." He glanced at Crowley's curious expression. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Crowley admitted. "Just interesting." He released his grip, smoothing the lapels with a gentle tug. "I'll be watching, Charity, so don't get any ideas."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Will said. Crowley smirked, then, with a snap of his fingers, the whole street was flooded with warm light. Will squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden brightness and when he opened them again, he was alone once more. Shaken and a little confused, he whirled about, scanning the street, but it was as empty as it had been before. Will rubbed a hand down his face with a little sigh. A moment ago he had been afraid for his mortal soul. Now, it seemed, he was going to have a little more say in the matter. But that could wait. First, he had to return the votive to Catherine's office.

Will hurried across the road. He scaled the back fence for the second time that evening, dropping to crouch in the shadows as a lantern flashed across the grass. Two patrolmen strolled around the corner of the building. Apparently, his little intrusion with Charles had caused the night guards to call on the constabulary. Will waited for the bobbies to pass by before sneaking around in the opposite direction, to the building's rear delivery entrance. Carefully, he crept through the receiving room's maze of boxes, full of artifacts yet to be catalogued. He eased the door open and slipped down the passage to the maintenance stairs. Will ran lightly up the winding metal stair to the first floor. At the top, he peered cautiously around the doorframe.

Down at the far end of the hall a guard was posted outside Catherine's office. He slumped in a chair beside the door, asleep on the job. Will snorted. He padded down the carpeted hall, keeping close to the wall. In the dark entry hall below, another bobby paced, unaware his partner was asleep at his post. Will crept right up to the chair, prepared for the man to wake, and then he noticed the unnatural slant of the head. The guard was not asleep - he was dead. The man had been strangled. 

The door of the office was ajar, and a scuffle of sound came from inside. Hardly daring to breathe, Will eased the baton from the guard’s slack fingers, gripping it tightly before kicking the door open wide.

Catherine's office was a complete shambles. Every filing cabinet and desk drawer stood open. Papers littered the floor. The glass fronted cabinets along the wall were smashed open, the artifacts within scattered and broken. The windows were open wide and the cool air rustled the torn pages of Catherine's workbook. Will's shoes crunched on broken glass and pottery as he stepped slowly inside, baton held high. It seemed the perpetrator had made his escape only moments before. Whoever it was had been ruthless in their search and it appeared that whatever they had been looking for had not been found. It suddenly occurred to him that one object had not been a part of the inventory that evening: the votive in his pocket.

He heard the sound a second too late. From behind the door, the thief grabbed Will, tackling him bodily to the floor. Knocked breathless, the baton flew from his hand and out of reach. He scrabbled for it, but the thief got a rope around his neck and held on with a tight grip. A thick stench of rot filled Will’s nose as spots started to blot his vision. He stretched out his arm for the baton, then brought it back sharply and caught his attacker in the face with his elbow. Rocked back by the force of the blow, the thief slackened their grip on Will's throat long enough for him to flip over. The thief wore a hooded cloak that shadowed their face. Still, Will aimed a punch where the face should be. The thief rolled off him with a growl. Will followed, but was not quite quick enough to catch them. From out in the hall he could hear the other guard shouting, the pound of footsteps. He lunged for the thief as they ran for the window, knocking them both sideways across the top of a workbench and sending paper into the air. Will grabbed a fistful of cloak and managed to pin the thief to the bench for a moment before a well placed kick sent him crashing to the floor. The thief leapt to the window. For a moment, Will caught a glimpse of a pale face with eyes that burned like embers, then they jumped out into the night.

Will scrambled to his feet and followed. He scanned the lawn below, but the thief was nowhere to be found, almost as if they had simply disappeared into thin air. 

The guard from downstairs burst into the room with his lantern, followed closely by a constable with a pistol. "Stop right there! Put up your hands!" Will froze, and the guard lowered the lantern quizzically. "Charity? What have you done?"

Will hesitated. He could not say he was there to return the votive because that would mean revealing he had taken it in the first place, which would hardly help his claim to innocence in the current matter. But he was not keen to remain on the business end of a pistol, either, so he did the only logical thing.

"Sorry, chaps. Must dash!" Will flashed the guard a smile and jumped.

Rolling as he hit the ground, Will just managed to avoid the shot fired after him. The shrill cry of police whistles bit the air. 

"Shit," he muttered and sprinted off across the lawn. He reached the fence but another shot pinged against the wrought iron near his shoulder, forcing him to bolt along it instead. He ducked as another bullet whistled above his head, and his foot caught on something, sending him sprawling. He came to a stop with a groan, ribs aching, and found himself looking at a pair of very shiny boots.

"Can't I leave you alone for one moment?" Crowley asked before hauling Will to his feet so fast it left him dizzy. "Do you have any idea how much paperwork I'll have to fill out if you get yourself killed?"

Crowley wrapped his arms around Will firmly. There was a crack like a bullwhip, and Will got a last glance of the bobbies running toward them before all the breath was squeezed from his lungs as a thick pressure surrounded him. He clung to the demon's waistcoat, for lack of anything else, thinking this must be what drowning feels like. Just when he thought he could bear no more, the pressure was gone and he fell to his knees, queasy and gasping for breath. Will shook his head weakly, trying to get his bearings again. His mouth tasted burnt and dry, like he had spent a week marching through the desert without water. He retched, swiped shakily at his mouth with his hand, and tasted blood, too. This was the second time in as many days that he had experienced this helpless crush, and he was not keen to ever feel it again. Slowly, the room came into focus. Somehow, they had traveled back to the flat, but it was not as Will had left it.

The flat had suffered a similar fate to Catherine's office. Will rose shakily to his feet amid the tumble of books and papers, the cutlery from the sideboard; even the upholstery had been slashed apart. The singed smell of gunpowder hung in the air, along with something sharper, something rotten. Will and Crowley searched the rooms, but there was no sign of the thief - or of Charles.

"His clothes are gone," Will observed, kicking the empty wardrobe shut. "He left in a hurry."

"So did whoever's responsible for this." Crowley poked here and there with the tip of his walking stick as he headed back into the sitting room. There was a faint trail of droplets between fireplace and window. He sniffed, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"What is that smell?" Will asked. It seemed oddly familiar.

"Blood. Here, and over there," Crowley pointed to one of the windows where a large patch of something dark and sticky clung to one of the drapes. “Charles is a good shot.”

Will huffed in disappointment. "I liked those drapes. Anyway, that's not blood. It looks like tar."

"That's because it's not human." Crowley looked at Will sharply. "There was another demon here, and it was after something." He noticed Will's lack of reaction. "You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not. I think I ran into that fellow at the Bureau." He rubbed absently at his ribs. "And I know exactly what he was looking for." Will righted one of the chairs by the fireplace and sat with a little groan. He pulled the votive from his pocket, rolling it lightly in his palm.

"That wouldn’t do a demon any good. Needs a human to make it work. Why would they want something like that?"

"The same reason the Bureau wanted it, I'd wager. The votive itself isn’t important." Will's expression was grim as he contemplated the demon standing before him. "Crowley, I think they were after you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter contains a scene describing torture of demons by holy water.

_Two jokers wink from the precipice of the tower of cards. One will tell the truth, the other will tell a lie. The trick is to know which is which._

* * *

Will rolled the votive gently between his hands. He could imagine the hands of the builders, using a bit of straw to carefully spell out the incantation. How desperate must they have been to create such a thing? What had been so important they were willing to barter with their souls? He sighed. He was tired, he was suspected of murder, and now, there was more than one demon out for his life. He missed Charles with a sharp ache that had nothing to do with his cracked rib. He wanted to see him, to hear his laugh and have a sympathetic ear for his complaints. He wanted to apologize for the things he had said. He wanted them to face this together, side by side, as they had faced all other adversities. And deep below all of that, Will simply wanted to lay his head on Charles' shoulder and be held.

Charles, however, was not here. Will did not really fault him for being scared. Besides, he had a fairly good idea of where Charles had gone. It would be morning soon, and he could only hope that there was still time before the demon returned.

Crowley frowned as he fingered the edge of the ruined curtain where the splotch of blood still glistened wetly, stinking of hell and the rot of a poorly constructed body. A rough, shoddy job done quickly and without care; this demon had not been summoned for any grand infernal designs but for the express purpose of sniffing him out.

"I think that the Bureau sent us to Egypt to recover this votive to prevent exactly this situation," Will said, breaking the silence.

Crowley nodded absently. "It is not unheard of for demons to hunt one another. Everything depends on power in hell. Those that do not possess enough constantly want more, and those with the most are loathe to relinquish it. But for a human to twist that hunger for their own gain..." He trailed off thoughtfully. "Someone is prepared to pay very dearly to make a contract with me, and that makes them incredibly dangerous for both of us. As long as you hold the bond, my contract is yours alone."

"Wonderful." Will heaved himself upright and joined Crowley at the window. "I suppose that means they will have to kill me to get it." He took in the view, seeing it with the sharp detail of one who knows they are looking at something for the last time. It was not quite light, but the lamps had been put out so the street had an otherworldly quality about it. Off in the distance, the sound of a horse cart echoed, coming up the street at a good clip. Beside him, Crowley slammed a fist down on the sill.

"No one is killing you! Not if I have anything to say about it," he growled. "We have to leave. Now. Before that demon obtains a new body."

Will smiled wryly. "And before I am arrested."

Crowley followed his gaze down to the street where the constable's mariah clattered to a halt before the building. He groaned, rubbing his temples. The pounding at the door was doing nothing to ease the pounding in his head. "You aren't making this easy, Charity."

"Give me a moment to pack," Will called. In his room, he kicked open the trunk at the end of his bed and pulled out a well-worn leather bag. He kept it packed at all times, for occasions such as this. It was only the work of a moment to grab a few more particulars from his ransacked wardrobe before he rejoined Crowley in the sitting room.

"We should go find Charles and Catherine, they may be in need of help," he said over the noise of the police trying to break the door down. He hunted through the mess on the floor until he found the fireplace poker.

"I am supposed to be keeping you out of trouble. I'll take you to my flat, it's safer."

Will stopped in the middle of prying up the hearthstones. "You have a flat?"

"Just a little place in Mayfair." Below, there was a splintering crash as the front door gave way. Heavy boots began pounding up the stairs.

Will hastily tossed the loose bricks aside, grabbed a pocketbook from its hiding place, and stuffed it in his coat. "Come on! We can go out the back." He ran to the kitchen window and threw up the sash.

"It will be faster if I take you!"

"Absolutely not!" Will hooked a leg over the sill as the pounding began again at the landing. "I am not doing that - whatever that was - again. Now, are you coming or not?" He grabbed hold of the drainpipe and began to shimmy his way down the side of the building.

"Oh, for _heavenssake!_ ," Crowley swore. With a snap of his fingers, he vanished just before the police crashed into the flat.

Will gritted his teeth and jumped the last few yards into the alley below. He stumbled, felt something twist, but forced himself to his feet. For the second time that night, Will was chased by police whistles as he ran up the alley to the main road. There was a terrible racket going on with lots of shouting and whinnies. He skidded to a halt in the mouth of the alley, narrowly avoiding being run down by the mariah as it pulled up in front of him.

"Well, get on, Charity! I haven't got all night!" Crowley yelled down from the driver's seat.

Will did not need telling twice. He jumped aboard, barely getting a hold of the bench before Crowley cracked the reins and he was thrown into the seat. He turned around and saw a few bobbies giving halfhearted chase, but they were soon left behind. Will's triumphant laugh quickly turned into a cough that spotted his sleeve with blood. Crowley eyed him suspiciously from behind his glasses.

"You need a doctor," he called over the pound of hooves.

Will waved away his concern weakly. "I'm fine." He grimaced as the wheels hit a loose cobble, sending him sideways into Crowley. "Although I would appreciate it if you drove a bit slower!"

Crowley only grinned wickedly and urged the terrified horses faster. They rounded a corner sharply and Will was nearly tossed to the pavement. Crowley managed the horses with ease, pushing them through the early dawn streets at full speed, and for the first time Will saw unbridled enjoyment on the demon's face. Will shared none of his enthusiasm. Several times he feared they would crash into the few other carts and wagons that blurred past but somehow, they never managed to hit anything. By the time they reached Mayfair, he was faint with exhaustion just from keeping himself in the seat. He reflected that perhaps he should have agreed to let Crowley transport them after all before the world went black.

* * *

Across the country, in the castle above a sleepy village on the northeastern coast, a demon struggled against his bonds as another bead of holy water hit his flesh. The demon sucked in a horribly wet, gasping breath. The hole the bullet had torn through his chest gaped and more blood dripped to the floor.

"Your instructions were explicit: only return when you have found the votive." His master's voice was low and sharp as he circled the spot where the demon was being forced to kneel. "And yet, here you are, showing a reckless disregard for my property, only to inform me that the demon has already been summoned." Another trickle burned a path across exposed flesh, drawing a low scream from the demon's throat.

"I thought demons were supposed to be impervious to most human weapons." The man addressed this last statement to the other demon in the room, also bound and kneeling within the confines of an unbroken circle. Black eyes glared from a mottled grey face.

"Firearms have seen drastic improvement since last we were summoned," the second demon growled. "If you would only give Ligur another body, we could return and - " The demon recoiled with a yowl as a spray of water hit his face.

"I summoned two of you expecting the job to be done by now! Yet I now find myself one demon short and my quarry out of reach!" Rage contorted his face as the man wielded a gold aspergillum like a lash in his frustration. Both demons writhed, unable to move far from the reach of falling water. The exertions finally proved too much for the wounded Ligur and he convulsed a final time before falling to his side and going still. The man tilted his head with a little disappointed frown. "It seems my confidence in your methods was misplaced." He raised the pitcher of holy water, preparing to pour it out.

"Wait!" The second demon cried desperately. "There's still a chance to capture him! Crowley has been summoned, but no deal has been struck. He has passed the bond to another."

The pitcher retreated, and the black-eyed demon sagged with relief. The man turned to the window, resting against the sill. Outside, a thick fog clung to the coastline, obscuring the village below. Off in the distance, he could just make out the new steel beams that had been added to the framework of the building on top of the cliff, poking above the fog like teeth that glowed faintly in the light of the lamps. The workmen toiled day and night to build the great hotel, but the work was still too slow. He needed that demon. "You are certain there is no contract?"

"Yes," the demon said eagerly, bowing his head in supplication. "Grant Ligur a new body, let us return and bring him to you. Then, you can claim the contract for yourself, as you wished." His master considered the proposition for a long time. The silence made the demon nervous, and he was not used to feeling nervous. This summoner was the first in many, many centuries to be so ruthless, so hungry for real power. Slowly, the man paced back to where the demon knelt. 

"Crowley would not be bound to me."

"We will kill the bond-holder. With Will Charity dead, the bond will pass to you," the demon promised with all the obsequiousness he could muster. "We will kill all of them, master, Charity, Mundi, and the girl - "

"No!" The man reached out and grasped the demon's sparse hair harshly, pulling his head back. "She is not to be touched."

"As you wish, master."

The man smiled, tightening his grip. "You will not disappoint me again, Hastur. Succeed where your companion has failed." He forced Hastur to watch the holy water stream from the pitcher and onto the body on the floor. The water sizzled as it mingled with the viscous gore, sending up a gout of rotting, sulfurous steam. Ligur's form convulsed, twisting as muscles tore and bones cracked. A pained shriek rose from his throat that only increased in pitch and volume as the corporeal form was burned away. Hastur twitched, trying to move away from the spreading poisonous puddle, but his master did not relinquish his hold. Hastur could not say what made him more afraid: seeing Ligur's true form slowly consumed by the one thing able to permanently kill a demon, or the grin on his master's face.


	5. Chapter 5

_The only sound in the flickering lamp light was the shifting hiss of sand underfoot. Will's heart beat in his throat as he inched down the ancient ramp further into the tomb. All around him, the hand carved stone pressed close, offering no escape, so the only way he could go was down, down to the lip of the sunken chamber filled with the skeletons of builders, choked and buried under mountains of sand. Charles was trapped, they were pulling him under to join them. He reached up his hands, Will stretched, but the more he stretched, the further Charles retreated from his grasp. The sand was spilling in all around them, hot and rough and choking. Charles was disappearing, his fingers just out of reach, and then he was gone. Will shouted out for him, but all he could see was sand before the torch went out._

He was dreaming. A cool hand pressed against his forehead in the

_darkness, he is the nameless dark without stars but he is not alone, something flutters around him, a sound without sound, encompassing and safe, warm and fragile and familiar, and a light, small, bright goldenfire heat, spreads to envelop him, he is glowing, he is burning, he is falling, a star, a comet tracing a line of fire through the cosmos, exploding into a galaxy that spirals out into the vast universe, arms spread wide searching for that lost familiar thing ... reaching ... always reaching ..._

* * *

Will came awake slowly, dreams fading like thick morning mist as he became aware of his body. He was lying on something soft, someplace warm, quiet, and still. He did not immediately open his eyes, luxuriating in the drowsy contentment that comes after a long rest, unwilling to face consciousness just yet. The events leading to his current state were coming back to him, but in a distant sense, existing far away from this little pool of darkness. If he did not open his eyes, he would not have to think about demons, or contracts, or the state of his continued employment with the Bureau.

Curiosity, however, won out and he opened his eyes just a fraction. The room was so dark, for a moment he wondered if he had opened them at all, but they soon adjusted to the dim light of embers in the grate beneath a large mantle. Will had the sense of waking in the middle of the night as a child and feeling like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. He lay on a couch pulled close to the fire and was swaddled in a thick blanket, but from what he could tell, all his limbs were intact beneath it. Above him, he could just make out the ornate plaster work of an unfamiliar ceiling that was much higher than he had expected, the corners of the room lost to fuzzy shadows. Mayfair, Crowley had said. A demon residing among the elegant mansions and clubs. Will smiled a little at the irony.

The demon in question was sprawled in a high backed chair drawn up to the foot of the couch. It was also ornately carved, more like a throne than anything else, and was just the sort of ostentatious furnishing Will expected him to own. He appeared to be reading, despite having hardly any light, and had not seemed to notice that Will was awake, so he continued to feign sleep and took the chance to study the demon who wanted his soul.

If Will had not known better, he may have mistaken Crowley for any other wealthy gentleman. His long legs stretched toward the fire, boots replaced by quilted slippers. He looked even thinner without his coat, his shirt, open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, revealing more of the bony frame that belied his strength. Though Crowley wore his hair longer than was fashionable, it was tied back neatly with a slim black ribbon, save for one curl that escaped above his right ear. Everything about him spoke of fastidiousness, and something of a performance. Even his current dishevelment seemed like pretense. This was a man who took great care of how he was perceived by the world, even when alone.

Only his eyes gave the game away. They burned differently in the low light, mellowed from bright phosphorous to the singe of an ember, with the spark still alive within. Without the dark lenses, Will could fully see that they were keen and intelligent, the eyes of someone who could read all your thoughts without revealing any of his own. Will realized that he knew almost nothing of Crowley, and wondered if he ever would, then just as quickly wondered why he should care. This was a demon who wanted his soul -- there was no need to get to know him. Will must have made some sort of sound, because Crowley glanced up from his book and his eyes fairly glowed with delight to see Will stirring.

"Oh, good! You're awake." He sounded pleasantly surprised, and just a little relieved, like he had been expecting the opposite. He produced a glass of water from somewhere and came to kneel by Will's side, helping him sit up enough to drink. "How do you feel?"

"Rather well," Will rasped, "considering the last thing I remember is nearly being thrown from a carriage. Your driving skills leave a little to be desired."

Crowley rolled his eyes, an expression that took up more of his face than Will thought possible. "I did offer to take you myself."

"Oh, please don't start. I've only just woken up," Will grumbled, pushing himself up higher on the lumpy pillows. As the blanket shifted, he discovered his hands and chest were bandaged. He prodded curiously at the spot where the demon had kicked him but felt nothing, not even the twinge of a bruise. A brush to his throat revealed it bore no trace of the garroter's rope. It also no longer bore the familiar weight of a silver chain and he had a moment of panic before Crowley assured him it was safe in his satchel.

"Silver can be a bit tricky, so I removed it before I started."

"You mean, this is your handiwork? I thought that was reserved for -- " Will pointed upwards suggestively.

Crowley snorted. "They do like to make a show of it, but the basic principle is the same no matter which side you're on." He rose and put another log on the fire, stirring the embers to life. "You're lucky I remembered how to do it. You did quite a number on yourself." He ticked a list off on his fingers. "Bruised shoulder, cracked rib, internal bleeding, strangled, and on top of all that, you nearly twisted an ankle climbing down that drainpipe! It took me all morning to sort you out." He arranged himself on the chair again, all knees and elbows.

"All morning? How long have I been asleep?"

Crowley stuck out a lip thoughtfully and fished a pocket watch from his vest. "Day and a half? Ah, it’s just gone two. You’re as punctual as a duck." He waved away Will's perplexed expression. "In the park, St. James. I have no idea why, but that's when they wake up." 1 He spread his hands, considering them. "I was starting to think I might have mucked it," he admitted quietly. "It has been such a long time since I've had to heal anyone, frankly, I was not entirely sure it would work."

Will fingered the linen wrapping. "Well, I am certainly glad that it did, although you did not have to go to so much trouble."

Crowley sputtered. "I didn't do it out of the kindness of my heart! I have a certain amount of responsibility for you, remember. Namely, making sure you stay alive long enough to make a contract."

"But you didn't have to bring me here to do that, or heal me for that matter. You could have just let them arrest me. If I were convalescing in a cell right now, awaiting trial for murder, I would probably be more willing to make a contract with you."

Crowley blinked owlishly. This thought had not occurred to him, and that struck Will as incredibly funny. Crowley scowled as Will started laughing. He muttered something about making decisions under pressure, but that only made Will laugh harder. Crowley threw his hands up in frustration.

"All right! You'll undo all my hard work if you carry on like that." He motioned for Will to make room and sat beside him on the couch.

Will, still snickering, held out a hand but Crowley only barely got hold of his wrist before Will snatched his hand away with a shocked cry. "Your hands are freezing!" Will hissed as he rubbed at the numb tingling Crowley's fingers had left behind.

"Sorry!" Crowley apologized quickly. "I forget about that. Let me find my gloves -- "

Will shook his head. "No, it's all right. Just surprised me, that's all. Try again." Hesitantly, Crowley opened his palm and Will slowly eased his fingers against the pale skin. Gooseflesh rolled up his arm at the contact, but it was not unpleasant now that he was expecting it, much like dipping a toe into the frigid sea. Will gave Crowley an encouraging little smile to proceed. Crowley bent over his hand, carefully pulling away the bandage and inspecting the new flesh beneath. Will went very still as Crowley's thumb brushed across his palm, unexpectedly gentle.

Will cleared his throat, compelled to fill the silence. "So this is part of the bond. You have to stop me from being killed."

Crowley glanced up from his examination. "Yes, because unfortunately, I can do nothing to stop you from being stupid." The amusement in his eyes implied it was not precisely an insult. "Just don’t go around expecting this kind of treatment every time you get into trouble." He motioned for Will to turn around, so he could reach the bandages around his chest. Will's breath hitched as Crowley's icy fingers brushed against his skin as he worked at the knot, but otherwise he held himself stiffly, staring into the fire.

"Your soul is a precious commodity, so I must keep a close eye on it. It's my ticket home, once you finally make a contract, that is," he muttered. "If you die before setting a contract, that leaves me in the lurch. No contract, no passage home, and a mountain of paperwork."

"Is that the only reason you're doing this? So you don't have to fill out paperwork?" Will wiggled back around indignantly, getting tangled in the loosened bandages.

"Do you have any idea how boring it is being stuck here without a contract, waiting around for someone else to summon you? It took _eighty years_ to get another contract the last time."

"Surely that’s not long for a demon."

"It is in the fourteenth century,” Crowley growled darkly. "And I will be blessed before I let that happen again!"

Will turned back to the fire angrily. "I'm not sure how to feel about being indebted to a demon who is only helping me for my soul. Makes me feel a bit like a fatted calf."

Crowley’s huff of amusement was warm on Will’s shoulder. "That is one way of looking at it. It is true that I am compelled to protect you because of the bond," Crowley continued softly as he reached carefully around Will’s waist to roll back the bandage. "But it goes both ways. If anything happens to me while fulfilling the contract, if this body is seriously wounded, for instance, I would need your help to obtain a new one. A demon without a proper corporation is weakened and vulnerable -- easy to capture, easy to manipulate or use as a trap."

Will tried to keep his breathing even as Crowley prodded at his ribs with the brisk efficiency of a field medic, the soft brush of his fingers so cold it burned. "Why would I want to help _you_? What would I get out of that, if you’re taking my soul anyway?"

Crowley leaned closer, his voice a low hiss in Will’s ear. "What would you like? There must be something … "

Will flinched away, but there was little room to escape on the couch. "I told you," he said shakily, "there is nothing I want. You should have made the deal with Charles, instead."

"Would have saved me a lot of bother, that's certain." Crowley retreated with a wry chuckle. "But not nearly as interesting. People have killed each other over contracts before, but in all my years, I have never heard of anyone willingly taking over the summoner's bond from another. Technically, it shouldn't even be possible, but you found such a clever little loophole." He turned over Will's right hand. His eyes were bright, impressed by Will's ingenuity. "That one will take some explaining to my superiors. I suppose I just wanted to see if it would work."

Will stared as Crowley absently traced the line of the scar like he was reading Will's palm, like he could see the story embedded there. Will, an orphan with unruly curls and too much cheek for his own good, befriended immediately by Charles, who had been the only one to fight for him, with him, by his side always. A promise made in the dark of night, to be brothers forever, sealed with that pilgrim's kiss. It had been the first step on the path that had made Will throw caution to the wind and make a deal in his friend's place with the demon sitting before him now. The same demon tending to his hurts with incredible care, his edges so softened in the semidarkness, Will could almost believe he was not a demon at all.

"Wanting to avoid paperwork wasn’t my only reason. You piqued my interest," Crowley admitted, his voice low.

Will flushed, the sudden heat a counterbalance to the cool of Crowley's hands. The room, for all its space, seemed to have shrunk down to the little patch of floor before the fire. Crowley's hand lingered at Will's wrist. Will was sure he could feel the pounding of his pulse. There had been another moment like this not long ago, though Will was not sure now much had been real, what had been memory and what had been temptation. It had certainly felt real, inside that tent with Crowley's hands on him, mouth on him, the easy weight of him pressing into the pallet. Will wondered if Crowley was tempting him again, if he wanted to be tempted. Will swallowed and forced the thought away. "Thank you," he murmured sincerely. "Whatever your reasons, I am grateful for your help."

A little furrow pinched Crowley's brows together for a moment, like he was unused to being thanked. He looked like he wanted to say something, then stood abruptly, gathering up the bandages and clearing his throat. "Yes, well -- I’ll just -- " he stammered before disappearing through a door to one side of the fireplace. Will sat feeling vaguely adrift in his absence. He reached up for the locket out of habit before he remembered Crowley had taken it.

Crowley returned a moment later bearing a tray, along with Will's things. He set the bag and coat on the floor and the tray on Will's lap, then returned to his ungainly slouch in the chair.

Will stared down at a bowl of steaming soup, a heel of brown bread and a few new potatoes in butter. "Did you make this?" He asked hesitantly.

Crowley bristled at the implication. "I appropriated it from a local dining establishment. Do forgive me for not having anything in, but I was not expecting company," he said archly when Will raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, I was wondering about that." Will looked around at the room pointedly. Apart from the chair and couch, there was no other furniture. "When you said Mayfair, I had expected a little ... more."

"I've only just been summoned! Give me a little credit. Be grateful I bothered to find you someplace to sleep. Hurry up and eat, get your strength back, and when you've finished, we're going to make a contract."

"I haven't agreed to that," Will said as he tried the soup. It was very good, and he found he was too hungry to quibble over its provenance.

Crowley groaned, throwing his head back. "Saints! I have never met anyone so determined to _avoid_ a contract."

"I happen to like having a soul, and would rather not give up my life so soon, if it's all the same to you."

"Oh, you needn't die to give me your soul," Crowley said, like it was meant to be encouraging. "Plenty of people get on perfectly well without one." Crowley grinned. "Not that bad, once you get used to it." He returned to his book, the subject apparently closed.

Will frowned. Living without a soul was a more terrifying prospect than dying with one. He considered his options. This whole contract business was turning out to be more complicated than a simple exchange of services. He and Charles had created a unique circumstance. Somehow, he thought, there must be a way to turn the fact that he held the bond in place of Charles to his advantage and keep Charles out of danger, keep Crowley from being used as a weapon, and retain his soul in the bargain. He set the tray aside and rubbed absently at his ribs, remembering the animalistic glare of the hooded demon's eyes, and suddenly realized something terrible.

"There were two of them!" he cried, startling the book from Crowley's hands.

"What?"

"At the Bureau! That demon who attacked me wasn't injured. He disappeared only moments before I jumped out the window and you showed up and -- " He made a vague gesture at Crowley.

"Transported."

"Yes, transported, us back to the flat."

"So?"

"So if it was attacking me, what was Charles shooting at? Surely even a demon couldn't ransack Catherine's office _and_ our flat in the space of a few minutes."

Crowley looked faintly sick. "Shit."

"I have to warn Charles." Will leapt up and reached for his bag. "He's still in danger."

"Wait! Think about this before you go rushing off. The moment you walk out that door, that demon will be able to find us. You're no good to Charles dead."

"I'm not going to sit by and see my friends killed, either!" Will snapped, pulling on a shirt.

"Then let me help you. Solve both our problems."

The weight of what he was suggesting pooled icily in Will's stomach. "No. We can't."

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "I seem to recall telling you that refusal would not be advisable."

"I know. I am not refusing, exactly."

"Don't be obstinate, Charity."

"No, listen! Whoever summoned those demons knew just where to find your votive, they knew the Bureau was collecting it. They know your name, so even if I do make a contract now, what's to stop them summoning you again? As long as I live, and hold the bond of contract, they can’t use your power. So I am suggesting an -- arrangement, a delay in the decision. We eliminate that threat first, then I'll make your contract."

Crowley rose to his feet in one sinuous motion. "Are you trying to manipulate me into helping you without a contract?"

Will refused to back down under Crowley’s glare. "I am going to help Charles, with or without you. You can either assist me, and ensure I come out the other side to give you a contract, or you can just kill me right now and let another summoner deal with you. But I can tell you now, anyone else would not hesitate to see you destroyed. Do you think Charles would have bothered to help you?" Will's laugh was hollow. "He would have given over his contract in a heartbeat! From where I stand, you need me right now a lot more than I need you."

Crowley sneered. "You're making a lot of assumptions, Charity. Why are you so hell bent on helping this man? He's the one who got you into this in the first place."

Will opened his mouth, but only sighed and sat again. His foot knocked over his bag and the locket tumbled out. He reached for it with shaking fingers. "Charles never meant to summon you," he said sadly. "It was just a mistake. He doesn't deserve to die because of it. And Catherine loves him. Her happiness is tantamount to my own." He swallowed thickly, clenching the locket tightly in his fist. "That's why I took Charles' place. They are all I have in the world." Will looked up at Crowley helplessly. "Wouldn't you do anything for someone you loved?"

Something bright and dangerous flashed in Crowley's eyes, but he said nothing. He turned to the fire, bracing his hands on the mantle. For a long moment, he stood and stared into the flames, his shoulders taut, gripping the dark marble until tiny cracks began to appear. Will could sense the roiling, raw power of the demon underneath the shape of the man, the slithering shadow with too many teeth that could rip him to shreds. For the first time since he had appeared in the flat, Will felt properly afraid of the creature before him. Then, with a quiet exhalation, all Crowley's tension left him and his head slumped forward in an utterly human posture of defeat.

"This is not the first time I have been hunted," Crowley said quietly. "A very long time ago, some humans got it into their heads that they could trick me into a deal, then force me to give up my power completely. It was not pleasant." His tone was flat. "I can only assume this summoner wants me for a similar reason. If you walk out that door without a contract, those demons will not hesitate to kill you and your friends to get to me. Now, I may be a demon, but I have no insatiable lust for evil. I do not go around murdering innocent people for my own interests, and I have no intention of being forced into another contract against my will." He turned, drawing himself to his full height and fixing Will with his gleaming eyes.

"Mark me well, Will Charity: I would rather be stripped of my power than have you die unnecessarily. Unlike my fellows, I like to believe that I have at least a little honor."

Will's heart leapt. "Then you'll help?"

"With some stipulations. You must agree that you will not seek to endanger yourself with intent to prevent a contract. Neither will you seek any recourse, occult or otherwise, to eliminate, whether temporarily or permanently, either my corporeal or demonic forms, or have anyone do so on your behalf.

"In return, I will ensure you do not get yourself killed in the process of helping your friend, as is my duty as defined by the bond between summoner and demon, until such time as the threat of this other summoner has been eliminated and you agree on a contract, or circumstances arise that impede me from preventing your death, in which case your bond will be rendered null and void and the contract passes to the next candidate. Does that suit?"

Crowley held out a hand. Will tried not to let a grin run away with his features. He got to his feet and took it without hesitation. "We are agreed. A deal to make a deal. Once Charles and Catherine are safe, you may have my soul. You have my word."

"I suppose that will have to do," Crowley said with a little sigh. His eyes softened, crinkling at the corners. "You know, if you weren't so blessedly _good,_ you'd make an excellent demon, Charity."

Will laughed. "A compliment, I suppose." Their hands were still clasped, but Will could not bring himself to let go. "Thank you, Crowley."

Something about saying the demon’s name aloud, in the fire-dappled dark of this room that seemed to exist outside of time, outside of London, made Will feel like they had just agreed upon something important, something besides their new arrangement.

Crowley dropped his hand, looking as flustered as he had the first time Will had thanked him. He stepped back, folding his arms across his chest, making a show of being put-upon. "Well, then. Looks like I'm stuck with you. At least you aren't completely terrible company."

Will snorted. He hooked the locket securely around his neck and gathered up his coat and bag. "A day has been lost already, we’ll have to hurry. We’ll call at Catherine's. Charles will have gone there."

"Very well." Crowley was in his coat and hat with a snap. "But this time, I insist that we travel my way. It will give us the advantage of surprise in case the demons are waiting to follow us."

Will grimaced, but admitted the plan was sensible. He stepped awkwardly closer to Crowley, who _tsked_ and pulled him flush against his lanky frame. Hesitantly, Will arranged his hands, palms flat, against Crowley's chest, then changed his mind and gripped lightly at the demon's upper arms instead.

Crowley huffed in amusement. He slipped his own arms around Will's back, forcing Will to relent a bit of his stiff posture. "It will be easier if you relax," he said. Then, bending just a little closer, he whispered: "Trust me a little." And they were whisked into nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - This is in direct reference to A. E. W. Mason's _The Four Feathers_. 
> 
> "Do you know when the ducks start quacking in St. James's Park?" he asked with a laugh. "At two o'clock to the minute."
> 
> Harry (Heath Ledger in the film) has been suffering insomnia after deciding to quit the army in an act of cowardice. He wanders London at night and becomes familiar with the nocturnal habits of the ducks. It's a tiny line right at the beginning, but I had to refrain from throwing the book across the room when I first read it because it was too much of a coincidence. 
> 
> Back  
> 


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